Sickbay Chronicles
by JadziaKathryn
Summary: Sickbay's most frequent occupants are once again confined, and they're suffering from cabin fever.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: These great characters belong to Paramount, and I'm just playing with them.

**Sickbay Chronicles**

Dr. Phlox had recently added isolationist groups to his list of universal constants. The latest round had resulted in severe musculoskeletal damage to both his patients. He was confident that they would both make a complete recovery, but in the meantime was watching them closely.

Once they made significant strides towards recovery, a week into their stay, Phlox was no longer sure that _he_ would survive their recovery. They were both his most frequent patients and most obstinate patients. Having Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed in Sickbay together was a recipe for frustration.

They were prone to somewhat heated discussions of power consumption. Captain Archer had mentioned that they probably returned to the subject because they had exhausted all others; this was suspicious because Ensign Sato had brought both men copies of a book. Phlox was irritated by the arguing after several consecutive days, but not for personal reasons. He harbored concerns over the effects of the stress on their recovery. When he mentioned this, it stopped the debate for just over an hour. They were soon back at it.

"Only four percent? All that power an' you can only improve the speed by four percent?"

"A four percent increase in the speed of our torpedoes could make the difference between life and death."

"So could maintainin' engines!"

"If we use a Verellian power converter, we could make the four percent with even less power."

"Only twenty percent less, but the converter itself would take five out of that. Besides, Verellians are always needin' realignment."

"We already have three Verellians operating."

"Three too many. Those things are headaches waitin' ta happen!"

Sufficiently concerned, Dr. Phlox decided on a course of action. He took two empty padds off his desk. He'd find others to write his reports on.

"Commander, Lieutenant," he began, "you'll need these."

"What for, Doc?" asked the commander.

"Your autobiographies," he replied, ignoring their incredulous stares. "Neither of you seem willing to refrain from activities that will hinder your recovery, so I'm giving you an assignment."

Commander Tucker seemed not to believe it. "We have to write our life stories?"

"Don't worry," grinned Phlox. "I won't be grading them."

* * *

Trip had initially been unimpressed with Phlox's idea, but had quickly warmed to it. _As the oldest son, I became the third Charles Tucker. As long as I can remember, though, my family called me 'Trip.' _"Hey Malcolm, how's your comin'?" 

Malcolm groaned and handed over his padd. Trip looked at the paragraph his friend had written. "Your life didn't start with Starfleet!" he protested.

"Nothing worth mentioning happened before that," replied Malcolm.

"You've never known any historians, have you?"

"I take it you have."

"My sister-in-law. Believe me, there is _nothing_ that she doesn't think is important."

Malcolm took his padd back and tried to shrug. The effort didn't pan out because his shoulder wasn't quite up to the task of reaching towards his ears, and he scowled. "I don't intend to let any historians get their hands on this anyway, and that goes double for journalists."

Trip punched a few characters in. "I'm callin' mine _Life (So Far). _How 'bout you?"

"I don't have a title."

"You can't write an autobiography without a title!"

"I am writing this purely to make Dr. Phlox happy, because keeping Dr. Phlox happy will keep Captain Archer happy."

"You still need a title."

Several silent minutes later Malcolm announced, "_Far and Away_."

"What?"

"That's my title. _Far and Away._"

"Not bad," commented Trip.

"Considering your title," Malcolm retorted, "I'm not sure about your judgment."

"What's wrong with my title?"

"It's not terribly original."

"Gentlemen," reproached Phlox.

"Right. Sorry Doc." Before resuming his work, Trip muttered just so Malcolm could hear, "It's original to put parentheses in a title."

Malcolm rolled his eyes and went back to business.

* * *

"Trip?" 

"Mmm?"

"We're not going to write about Risa, are we?"

"You're already at Risa? I'm still on summer camp when I was thirteen!"

"No, I'm still on my first year at Starfleet Academy. I just thought I'd check."

"I don't see why we have ta tell the world about that."

"Good."

* * *

"Malcolm?" 

"Yes?"

"I need another word for 'take apart.' This is gettin' repetitive."

"How about 'disassemble?'"

"Already used that one."

"'Dismantle?'"

"That's a good one. Any more?"

"'Dismember?'"

"I wouldn't've come up with that one. Any that don't start with 'dis?'"

Malcolm thought for a moment. "Sorry, no."

* * *

Hoshi, as usual, stopped in for a few minutes on her lunch break. She couldn't stay long, but it was nice to see her. Trip looked over after she left and saw Malcolm with a smile on his face, working on his padd. That smile caught Trip's attention. It was suspicious, because Malcolm never smiled in Sickbay. 

The timing of this dawned on Trip. "Malcolm," he began in his nicest voice, "it sure is nice of Hoshi to stop in, isn't it?"

"Quite nice. I only wish we were better company."

"Oh, I don't think she minds." Trip had to work hard not to laugh. "There's something funny about her visits, though."

Malcolm looked up. "What?"

"Well, Hoshi's great an' all, but it seems like she's not bein' very fair with these visits. See, she's more interested in you than me." He paused for effect. "I was startin' to take it personally, but then I realized _you_ seem awfully happy to see her."

"We're cooped up in Sickbay and can't even walk ten steps. I'm thrilled to see visitors."

"Well, yes, but you don't keep smilin' after anyone else leaves. I think there's more goin' on here than you say."

"I'm afraid I haven't got the foggiest idea what you're referring to, Commander," replied Malcolm.

"'Course not," grinned Trip. "But do tell, Lieutenant. I've lost count. How many of the last movie nights have you two sat together?"

"It's not like you're extraordinarily subtle, you know."

"What?"

"There is obviously something going on with you and T'Pol," grinned Malcolm, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"I'm startin' ta think we should keep this entire conversation to ourselves."

"That suits me just fine. I do have one question, though."

"What's that?"

"When are you going to tell the captain?"

Trip grinned mischievously. "The same time you do."

Malcolm considered that seriously. "Good idea. Strength in numbers."

Rolling his eyes, Trip turned back to his padd. "You can take the man out of the armory, but you can't take the armory out of the man."

* * *

_Mickey and I worked on that boat for most of the summer, improving it as we went along. Eventually there was nothing else we could do but wait for the day of the race._ Trip was about to skip ahead to their homemade-boat race victory when he smelled lunch. He looked up in time to see the door shut and Dr. Phlox wheeling the trays over. 

"What've we got today?" He really, really hoped that it was a bit heavier than the meals they'd been served lately. It would be a long time before he felt the same way about soup.

"Chicken salad sandwiches, milk, and grapes," replied Phlox in his ever-cheerful manner.

"Not soup?" asked Malcolm, daring to hope.

"No."

"Excellent!" Malcolm popped a grape into his mouth. "There's even lettuce in the sandwich."

What Trip really wanted was catfish, or a good thick steak, but the chicken salad was an improvement. He struggled to sit up, and reluctantly accepted Phlox's help. "Bon appétit!" he told Malcolm.

"Tu aussi," responded Malcolm. He swallowed and continued, "Le sandwich est tout á fait bon."

"Um, Malcolm?"

"Yes?"

"I don't actually know any French."

* * *

After a trying round of physical therapy, Trip settled back on his bed. He concentrated on T'Pol and felt her intense concentration. That wasn't surprising; she'd mentioned a comet-comparison study when she stopped by for her pre-shift visit. Still weak, he couldn't maintain that level of their bond for very long, particularly with Malcolm making a racket as he settled back in. 

It was all highly logical but very unfair that T'Pol felt their bond much more strongly than he did. Despite that, however, she was teaching him techniques, and as time passed he was able to sense her better. For the time being, however, he had little extra strength to devote to the endeavor.

Satisfied, Trip relished her gentle presence as the bond returned to its natural level. T'Pol was always with him.

His train of thought was interrupted by Malcolm. "Trip, did you ever meet Lieutenant Commander Haren?"

"Horrible Haren?"

"The one and only."

"I remember that some cadet rigged a balloon with clear glue an' glitter in his office a couple years after I graduated. That made a great story."

A sly grin crept on Malcolm's face. "Didn't it?"

"Hey, you know somethin' about this!" Trip's eyes got big. "Don't tell me you did it!"

"Certainly not. I would never compromise my career with a childish prank."

"Oh."

"I merely suggested the glitter."

"You _what_?"

"I told him that if he was going to go through all the trouble, he should at least add something impossible to clean, something that Haren would hate, to the glue. Something like glitter."

Trip laughed so hard that his battered body protested, but he couldn't stop. "Ow! Ohhhh, you're killin' me!"

"It was a pity nobody got pictures," mused Malcolm.

"Oh, my ribs!" His whole body shook with laughter.

Dr. Phlox came out of his office. "I'm glad that you two are enjoying yourselves, but it would be a good idea to do it in a way that doesn't cause so much pain."

"Doc," said Trip as his laughter slowed, "you never met this guy. He thought he was the best thing to happen to Earth since sliced bread, an' he treated everyone else like a servant. Even his superiors, half the time!"

Malcolm did a decent impression of the infamous man. "'Cadet, if you wanted to fool around, you should have joined the circus.' That was his famous line."

"You know what he told me once? 'If it were up to the likes of you, Tucker, we'd have ships all right, but no administration to control them. Do you think I'm harsh because it's all fun and games? Someone has to give you kids a reality check. We can't let Starfleet turn into a space circus.' But right over his head someone had written a sign that said _Join the Circus_."

Malcolm almost choked on his laughter.

* * *

Captain Archer stepped into Sickbay and was struck by an unusual lack of sounds. Oh, there were the soft rattling noises from Phlox's menagerie, but no conversation. Since Trip and Malcolm had been in Sickbay, this kind of silence only happened when they were asleep. He'd checked to make sure his visit didn't coincide with their mandated afternoon nap, a daily cause for complaint from both of them. 

He looked around. Dr. Phlox was analyzing his medical screens, and both his patients were intently engaged in something on their padds.

"Hi," he began.

"Cap'n! I hope you've come with news of life outside Sickbay." Yes, Trip was definitely awake.

"Good afternoon," greeted Malcolm, who also seemed to be quite awake.

Phlox turned around to give his own welcome. "Hello, Captain. I trust you're not here to incite my patients."

Archer had learned that such remarks were supposed to be jokes. "Not at all, Doctor." He turned his attention back to his recovering officers. "What are you doing?"

"Writin' our autobiographies," replied Trip without hesitation.

That didn't seem like an activity either Trip or Malcolm would come up with. "I take it this is Phlox's idea."

"Yes," sighed Malcolm, "although I don't see why I can do this but I can't even go over reports."

Phlox piped in, "Captain, since I gave this assignment to Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed, the level of stress they've been experiencing has dropped significantly."

"We've been forbidden to talk about modifications to ship's systems," explained Malcolm with a scowl.

Trip tapped his padd. "This isn't so bad. It sure beats sittin' here without a thing ta do."

"Except allow your bodies to heal, of course," added Phlox, who was developing a habit of interjecting himself into conversations.

It occurred to Archer that he really would have to behave himself next time he landed in Sickbay. "You're not missing much. We've entered a nebula today, so we're slowing down in order to take better scans."

"How's Porthos?"

"He had an adventure during our morning walk."

Trip looked at him expectantly. "What kind of adventure are we talkin' about?"

"Apparently T'Pol had stepped on a piece of cheese in the mess hall. He ran over to her when we met in the hall, and I spent five minutes trying to coax him away." He sighed. "All that trouble over the smallest piece of cheese he's ever eaten!"

"Good thing he's grown on her," replied Trip.

"At first I thought that she was just hiding her dislike better, but she really doesn't seem to mind him."

"Yep," continued Trip, "those eyes are impossible to ignore."

Malcolm, who had initially been skeptical of Porthos joining the crew on principle, nodded. "He's really quite well behaved. That helps."

"See? Even Malcolm's got a soft spot for him. Impossible to ignore."

"I do wonder," pondered Malcolm, thinking aloud, "if we could train him. He could be your personal guard dog."

Trip laughed, and Archer looked like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing as well. "I don't think that will be necessary," he said. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a report I need to finish."

When he left, Malcolm heard what could only be Archer laughing just outside the doors. He looked over at Trip, who was staring at him with a silly grin. "I wasn't kidding, you know," he huffed.

"Of course not, Malcolm. Of course not."

To be continued…

* * *

A/N: For anyone curious, Malcolm's French line translates: _You too. The sandwich is quite good._


	2. Chapter 2

"Lieutenant, have you forgotten my warning about pushing your body too far?" asked Phlox, who seemed to Malcolm to be in possession of surveillance equipment. Just a second ago he'd been engrossed in his medical screens.

"I was just doing a few stretches." He was anxious to escape Sickbay and hoped to hasten his release.

"Do I need to describe the extent of the damage to your legs again?"

"No," Malcolm sulked. His most recent run-in with a hostile alien faction had been particularly hard on his legs, and in fact the pain had been so unbearable that his brain apparently decided to keep the memory from him.

"Besides, tomorrow we'll start working with your legs further in physical therapy. You don't want to set that back, do you?"

"No."

Trip, who had only been half-listening as he worked on his autobiography, looked up eagerly. "Hey, what about me? Do I get to stretch my legs more tomorrow?"

"Yes, Commander. Your injuries are remarkably similar. Naturally your bodies aren't reacting identically, but both of you are in good health, so your progress is similar."

Malcolm scowled. "Our injuries are similar because our captors seem to have perfected a methodical method of beating."

"So, when'll we be able to blow this joint?" asked Trip hopefully, ignoring his co-captive.

The doctor looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't recognize that phrase."

Malcolm, meanwhile, had deliberately picked up his padd and started typing. "Speak for yourself. My joints have suffered quite enough, thank you."

Shooting a frustrated look at Malcolm, Trip explained for Phlox's benefit, "When can we leave?"

"I can't be certain."

"Can you guess?"

"You may be able to return to your quarters within the next forty-eight hours, provided that neither of you attempt to resume your duties for a week after that."

"A week!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Isn't that somewhat excessive?"

"I will allow you to make medical decisions, Lieutenant, as soon as you agree to my supervision of the phase cannons."

* * *

"Try the next one," sighed Hoshi, pointing to the list in his hand. 

"En en ah thu-ell," tried Malcolm.

Hoshi groaned.

"I wish I was recordin' this," Trip gleefully remarked from his biobed. "I could replay it any time I needed a good laugh."

Malcolm shot him a dark look. "I don't see you trying to learn any new languages."

"Why you're learnin' Andorian in the first place is beyond me."

"It's easier than Vulcan," Malcolm replied. "And I worked on my autobiography all day yesterday and half of today. I want to do something else." He didn't mention that Hoshi's enjoyment was a major factor.

She brought Malcolm's attention back to the task at hand. It was a good thing, he reflected, that she was patient. "You're making the two n's distinct."

"I'm not supposed to be?"

"No. Say 'en' and hold it."

"Ennnnnnn."

"Now pick it up halfway through that."

"Nnn."

"That's it, just like that. Even though they're written as separate words, you pronounce them as one. Now make the 'ah' sound faster. Nnn-ah."

He tried to repeat Hoshi's pronunciation. After the long 'nnn' he inserted a quick 'ah' sound. "Nnn-ah."

"Much better!" She practically glowed with pride. "Now add the last part, but make it a distinct word. Nnn-ah thuel."

"Nnn-ah thu-el."

"You're splitting the syllables too much. The word is supposed to flow. Thuel. The end rhymes with swell."

"Nnn-ah thuel."

"Excellent!"

Trip was still grinning like the Cheshire cat as he listened. "What does this nnahthwel mean?"

"Nnn-ah thuel," corrected Hoshi, "is 'peaceful greetings' in Andorian."

He looked disappointed. "I'd be more interested in 'get me outta here' in Denobulan."

"Somehow," remarked Malcolm, "I get the impression that language isn't the chief barrier to securing our release."

"Lieutenant, you're talking as if this is a hostage situation," chided Phlox as he ambled over to administer painkillers to his patients.

Malcolm didn't miss a beat. "Isn't it?"

* * *

Trip had convinced Malcolm and their visitors that evening to play a good old fashioned game of Monopoly. T'Pol had even refrained from pointing out the illogic of playing a game based on antiquated pursuit of money and was holding her own. Trip happened to think it was a fun game. Hoshi was winning, but he was a close second. He was just about to roll the dice to see how much he owed Jon after landing on the Electric Company when he paused. 

"That's not good."

"You haven't even rolled yet," observed Malcolm.

Trip frowned. "Not the game. There's somethin' wrong with the engines."

Hoshi looked at him quizzically. "Why do you think that?"

"It didn't feel right. Wait a second."

The group obligingly waited in silence. T'Pol and Hoshi attempted to use their sensitive ears to notice a variation. Travis put a hand on the floor in order to feel the vibrations of the ship, while Malcolm and Jon looked perplexed.

"There is was again," said Trip. He got blank stares in response. "I'm not makin' this up. Check with Engineering."

The captain walked over to a comm. panel. "Archer to Engineering."

"Freeman here. What can I do for you, sir?"

"Commander Tucker thinks that there's something wrong with the engines."

"Based on the timin' I'd say it's the intake manifolds," clarified Trip from his biobed.

Freeman presumably called up the readings, as the comm. was silent except for a few soft beeps. "He's right. The intake manifolds are fluctuating point-oh-eight percent. We'll get right on it."

"Thank you Ensign. Archer out."

"Shouldn't there have been some sort of alarm?" asked Travis, rather concerned about the possibility of engine problems going undetected.

"The computer doesn't give us the red flag until it fluctuates by one percent," replied Trip calmly.

Travis was clearly impressed. "If I hadn't heard this with my own ears, I don't think I would've believed it."

"I can attest," piped in Phlox as he ambled over to check on his patients, "that when confined, both Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed are capable of a great variety of remarkable feats. Just this afternoon, for instance, they managed to agitate my bat so that it wouldn't eat. Normally this occurs only after a serious injury."

"What did they do?" asked Archer.

"I believe it was a combination of the dartboard that Lieutenant Hess brought in, which was hung directly over my bat's cage, and their endless rendition of 'Two Thousand Cans of Beer on the Wall.'"

Archer, Travis, and Hoshi burst out laughing, while T'Pol looked on in amusement. "I guess you shouldn't quit your day job," Hoshi managed to say after a moment.

* * *

The next evening at dinner, Dr. Phlox allowed them to have dessert – a small piece of jelly roll each. Malcolm was especially pleased because it was a raspberry jelly roll. Trip usually liked strawberry better, but he was so happy to have dessert that he didn't care at all. Besides, they were getting out of Sickbay in just over thirty hours. 

"It's startin' ta taste like freedom," he declared happily.

"I wasn't aware that freedom has a taste," said T'Pol as the doors slid open in time for her to hear Trip's comment.

"Tastes like pecan pie," he grinned, "but a jelly roll is gettin' closer."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to him. He's going stir crazy."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you are equally eager to leave Sickbay, Lieutenant."

"Oh, he is," assured Trip. "Malcolm's back to his usual stiff-upper-lip self."

"Perplexing."

"What?"

"Was not the lieutenant's upper lip the only facial feature to remain undamaged?"

Trip chuckled. To anyone else that might not seem so amusing, but it was T'Pol's unique dry humor – another one of the many things he loved about her. She placed her left hand on his, but pulled it away after a look in Malcolm's direction.

"Oh, ah, Malcolm's kinda figured us out," he admitted. She placed her hand back on his, and the touch strengthened their bond. "But don't worry, he's not gonna tell anyone before we do."

"Your discretion is appreciated."

Malcolm, the soul of discretion, nodded and picked up his padd. "Pretend I'm not here at all," he suggested. After checking where he'd been in his autobiography, he resumed the work. _Scheduling the second year medical seminar directly after our hand-to-hand combat training sessions provided the medical students with ample opportunities to hone their skills._

He would never have admitted it, but Phlox's assignment had proven to be a bit entertaining. Malcolm was not one to spend a great deal of time reminiscing about the past, but writing about his days at Starfleet Academy had brought back some amusing memories. He'd entirely forgotten about the time he and his roommate had gone out jogging – the only thing they had in common was a shared affinity for physical fitness - and discovered their tough-as-nails ordinance professor painting the ducklings in the park. The best part was that the man actually cooed to the ducklings!

"He won't admit it," whispered Trip conspiratorially to T'Pol, "but he doesn't mind Phlox's assignment too much."

"I heard that, and I'll have you know that I only prefer this to mind-numbing boredom."

"So much for pretendin' he's not here."

"If I weren't here, would you be talking about my activities in Sickbay?"

"That is a valid point," noted T'Pol.

"Hey!" objected Trip. "Whose side are you on here?"

He could've sworn that Malcolm laughed in response, but the armory officer's face was perfectly serious.

* * *

Jonathan Archer strode into Sickbay while taking Porthos for his walk the next morning to find that Hoshi and T'Pol were already there. The two of them had been spending an awful lot of time in Sickbay, but then again so had he. 

"Morning," he greeted, stifling a yawn. "I brought another visitor."

"Hey there, Porthos." Trip and Malcolm were sitting up eating breakfast. Risking Phlox's displeasure, Archer lifted Porthos up and set him next to Trip, who rubbed the beagle's belly.

"Dr. Phlox is lettin' us out after dinner!" exclaimed Trip as Porthos thumped his tail with pleasure, enjoying the belly rub.

"We're not cleared for duty," added Malcolm regretfully, "but we can sleep in our own beds again."

"That's great news. In case you're interested, I've just been informed that Rostov is organizing a Pictionary marathon tonight at 2030 in the mess hall, and it sounds like you'll be out in time."

"Thank you," replied Malcolm, "but I'm not a Pictionary fan."

"Are you a fan of any games?" asked Trip teasingly.

"I'm quite fond of Risk, actually."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Of course."

Moving Porthos over to Malcolm's bed to be fair, Archer joked, "He's not here for guard dog training."

"He does seem interested in your toast, though," chimed in Hoshi.

"He'll have to do without my toast."

"I did not know that Porthos had an affinity for bread," noted T'Pol. Thinking of her recent experience, she amended, "unless it was covered in cheese."

"He's not all that picky," explained Trip, taking a spoon to his applesauce and watching in amusement as Malcolm petted Porthos with one hand and guarded his toast with the other. It occurred to him that now was as good a time as any to inform his friend about his relationship with T'Pol, so he put the spoon down. "Uh, the cap'n's not here, is he?"

T'Pol was perplexed and probably just a bit worried about his vision. "Captain Archer is standing directly to your right."

"That's Jon. I'm askin' about the cap'n."

Chuckling, the man in question replied, "The captain isn't on duty for another fifteen minutes." He took Porthos off Malcolm's bed so the armory officer could finish his breakfast in peace.

Trip snapped the stem of his banana because he needed to do something with his hands. "Jon, there's somethin' we want you ta know. T'Pol and I, well, we're together."

"Together?" Archer echoed. "I don't know what to say, but I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," grinned Trip.

T'Pol nodded in agreement. "Thank you. If it is possible, we would prefer to keep this information to ourselves."

Archer nodded.

Malcolm, meanwhile, had given Hoshi a questioning look and received a nod in return. He cleared his throat. "Before the captain's shift starts," he began, "Hoshi and I are seeing each other as well."

"Wow. Congratulations."

"It won't affect our duties," added Malcolm, biting back a 'sir.'

"I'm sure it won't." He looked at the two couples and then down at his faithful dog. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need to process this before the captain's shift starts."

"Of course," replied T'Pol evenly.

Once Archer left, Malcolm gave a satisfied smile. "Strength in numbers."

Trip rolled his eyes. "We weren't attackin' him, Malcolm!"

Whatever his response might have been, Malcolm was quieted by Hoshi's kiss.

Meanwhile, T'Pol pulled Trip into the white space, which he was able, with great effort, to turn into a park on a sunny day.

"_Your skills are improving," _she noted with satisfaction.

"_I've had a great teacher. Now if I could only get the birds."_

She plucked the memory from his mind and recreated the sound of the chirping birds. They proceeded to kiss. The best part of kissing in their minds was that they never had to stop for air.

In Sickbay, quite unnoticed by his patients or their visitors, Dr. Phlox was concerned by the silence and looked to see if there were any problems. Even with his extremely limited knowledge of Vulcan mating bonds, it was clear that there were no problems, so he turned back to his physical therapy plans to give the couples privacy. If anyone had been able to see his face, they would have noticed that it displayed unconcealed glee.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to all who've left a review. In part because of your comments, what was going to be a three-chapter story is now a four-chapter story. _

* * *

"Trip?"

"Hmm?"

"What did they call those horrendous rolls at the Deep End Pier?"

"You went to the Deep End Pier?" Trip had not expected that Malcolm would've enjoyed the popular San Francisco landmark. It was primarily a sports bar, after all, and Malcolm generally did not enjoy sports.

"Three times, under duress. I don't know what people saw in the place."

"It was a bit run-down, but they had those foosball tables."

"I suspect they used the rolls for the foosballs."

"So the Roll-lotta funs weren't the best. It was still a good place!"

"Your definition of 'good' is very generous."

"This from the man who reads James Joyce!"

"Commander, Lieutenant," reproached Phlox from his office. He was beginning to look forward to their impending release almost as much as the men themselves.

* * *

"Malcolm?" 

"Yes?"

"I've already used 'put together,' 'made,' 'constructed,' 'built' an' 'assembled.'

"'Created,' 'manufactured,' 'formed,' and 'forged.' I think I'm going to get you a thesaurus for Christmas."

* * *

Trip was trying not to leave out any details in his description of his first round of Starfleet survival training. All in all, he much preferred the rain forest to the desert, but that would come later. 

Suddenly the ship shook with what felt suspiciously like weapons fire. The tactical alert came on, and Malcolm was visibly fighting the urge to escape Sickbay and be more useful. Trip felt the same way, but Phlox was unlikely to take kindly to that, and it would probably translate to more time under his direct supervision.

"I guess this'd be a bad time-" Suddenly Trip found himself catapulted over the foot of his bed and he never got to say 'to ask what's goin' on.' The world turned strangely sideways as he flailed about. For a moment he saw Malcolm in a similar predicament, and then he landed on the floor. It sounded like Malcolm was muttering curses, but Trip was in too much pain to really notice.

His vision swarmed as Cutler scanned him. Phlox said something from Malcolm's direction, and Trip tried unsuccessfully to focus on something other than the searing pain racing through his battered body.

T'Pol's reassuring presence came to the fore. He clung to her, drawing comfort from her calm and somehow knowing that they were out of danger. Her soothing presence allowed him to steady his breathing.

"Can you hear me, Commander?" asked Cutler.

It took considerable effort, but he opened his mouth and managed to form words. "We should really pad the floor better."

A few crewmembers were beginning to come in with injuries, although they were apparently not in very bad shape, because Phlox and Cutler stayed with Trip and Malcolm while Rodriguez and Heismann attended to the others.

The anaprovalin began to take effect, which made the pain much more bearable. "Your left ankle is broken again," Cutler informed him. "The good news is that it's a clean break."

Malcolm was having his own problems. "Lieutenant, that rib is dangerously close to your lung. Moving is not a good idea." Phlox was hovering over him with a tricorder.

"I just want to know what happened," protested Malcolm.

"Unpleasant things will happen to your lung if you persist in moving!" Just then Archer walked through the doors. "Ask the captain if you must, Lieutenant, but _stay still_."

"We're fine," answered Archer before being asked. "We ran into a hostile and very territorial ship that demanded we leave the nebula."

"They have powerful weapons," noted Malcolm.

"Yes, but once we turned around they stopped firing."

Trip struggled to see the captain behind Cutler's hovering form. "The engines sound okay."

"The engines are fine, Trip."

"Which is more than I can say for your hand, Captain," chided Phlox. The last to fingers of the captain's right hand stuck out at angles that human fingers were not meant to point. "You need to have Crewman Heismann examine that."

"I'll wait until the more serious injuries have been taken care of."

"Fortunately, there are few serious injuries. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed won't be getting out tonight, however."

"Pictionary is starting to sound better," remarked Malcolm.

Trip realized that there was a sedative mixed in with his anaprovalin, as his eyelids started to droop. "I feel like someone's used me for a punchin' bag," he said before dropping off to sleep.

Malcolm, too, was succumbing. "Only one person?" he yawned.

* * *

Trip opened his eyes to see T'Pol looking down at him. Her hand was lying gently on top of his, and he relished the soft touch and her pleasure that he was awake. 

"Hey," he smiled. "I could get used ta your face bein' the first thing I see when I wake up."

"Ah, Commander," said Phlox, cutting off her reply and entirely ruining the moment, "I see that you're awake. How do you feel?"

"About as good as can be expected, considerin' my free fall."

The doctor pulled out his tricorder and began a thorough scan. "You broke your ankle again and fractured your hip."

"You weren't hurt?" Trip asked T'Pol.

"I suffered only a superficial cut on my right thumb."

"That's good, at least. How's Malcolm?"

"He's asleep."

"Still?"

Phlox always admired how humans were concerned about their friends. It was such an endearing quality. "No, he woke up almost an hour ago, but he fell asleep shortly before you woke up. Fortunately, I was able to convince Ensign Sato to get some rest herself." With that, he retreated to allow Trip and T'Pol a bit of privacy.

Trip eyed the retreating Denobulan with a sudden concern. "There aren't any bugs he uses for fractured bones, are there?"

Her face took on a subtle look of jest. "Considering your extensive experience in Sickbay, t'hy'la, I believe that you are in a better position to know than I."

"Ha, ha."

* * *

Malcolm was finishing his French toast the next morning when Hoshi came in. Her elbow was still swollen where it had slammed into the edge of her station, but it looked better than it had the night before when he woke up. 

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Hoshi. How's your arm?"

She shook her head a bit and sat down beside his bed. "My arm is just a little sore. You're the one who was a centimeter away from puncturing a lung. How are _you_ feeling?"

It was tempting to say 'fine,' which was his standard answer unless he was practically over the threshold of death's door. However, it was Hoshi he was talking to. He didn't have to disguise weakness in front of her. "I've been better. Catapulting across the room isn't something I'd recommend."

"I'll try to remember that."

"Do you think you can teach me more Andorian tonight?" Of course, Hoshi would agree. He was not a particularly adept student of languages – although he spoke semi-fluent French, that was not at all the same as an alien language – but Hoshi enjoyed sharing her passion for languages. Besides, it broke up the monotony of Sickbay.

"If you want to," she said, trying not to be too hopeful.

"It's a good way to take my mind off my captivity."

"Travis said something about coming by this afternoon with a trivia game, since he has the day off."

Malcolm was not especially fond of trivia games; to be more precise, he was particularly unexcited at the prospect of a trivia game with Trip, whose knowledge of trivia exceeded what Malcolm considered to be reasonable limits. Travis was no slouch himself. "I don't suppose you want to trade places?"

"That might not be a bad idea. I can sit back and relax while you compile a cultural guide that will be used by the diplomats who will be trying to form a federation."

"That sounds fine to me. I can fit in details about their weapons."

Hoshi made an exaggerated show of smacking her palm on her forehead.

* * *

As it turned out, there was a bit of strategy involved in Trivia Triangle, which made Malcolm's tactical heart happy. The objective was to be the first to traverse the triangular track. "When it's your turn," explained Travis, "you're told the category, and you get to chose if you want level one or level two. Level one is easier, but you only get to move forward one space. Level two is harder, so you get to move forward two spaces. I'll ask your questions, Commander, and you can ask Lieutenant Reed, who will ask me." 

"For cryin' out loud, we've known each other for five an' a half years! You don't hafta use ranks off-duty."

Travis looked over at Malcolm, who he knew to be much stricter about such things. "We are off-duty," he said, "and playing a game at that." If one was going to be playing games with subordinates, why not use first names? Malcolm kept his social interaction limited to the senior staff, but he had grown rather accustomed to what would be considered fraternization. Particularly with the communications officer.

"Alright, Trip, you're first."

Malcolm frowned, thinking he could use all the head start he could get. "He gets to go first, just like that?"

"The youngest player asks the first question," clarified Travis.

"Oh."

The helmsman turned toward Trip. "Your category is Literature."

"So now I pick a level? I'm not very good at literature, so I'll go with level 1."

Travis consulted the card. "Which twentieth-century author wrote _The Sun Also Rises_?"

"That's level 1?"

"It's even American literature," noted Malcolm, implying that the question should be easy.

Trip sighed. "I don't have a clue."

"I don't suppose I get credit for knowing?" asked Malcolm.

"No, but you can guess anyway."

"Hemingway."

"Very good."

"I had ta read one of his books in high school. _The Old Man an' the Sea_, that was it. I'm surprised he didn't starve, writing like that."

Travis shrugged. "I remember that. At least it was short."

They both looked at Malcolm. "I'm not a huge fan, but _The Old Man and the Sea_ wasn't one of his better books. What's my category?"

Trip checked the card. "Science an' Technology."

"Level two."

"Confident! Alright, the Nobel Prize is named after the inventor of what?"

"Dynamite," replied Malcolm without hesitation.

"It figures you'd get a question about blowin' stuff up."

Travis grinned. "It is very appropriate."

"Your category is Pop Culture," Malcolm informed him.

After a moment of consideration, Travis declared, "I'll try level two."

"Name the first movie in which actors portrayed Vulcans."

"I know this one! Oh, what was that called…it had the boy who lived with his aunt… "Main Street, Earth," that was it."

"That's right. I don't think I've ever heard of it."

Trip was aghast. "How can you not have heard of "Main Street, Earth?" It's a classic!"

"I must've been busy learning which books Hemingway wrote," answered Malcolm without looking up.

Travis reached for the card to ask Trip and wondered what he'd started.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

"Frederick Tomlinson?" guessed Travis.

"Sorry, it's Manny de Silva," said Malcolm.

Trip knew all about the two and their achievements. "Tomlinson's the one who first theorized that matter transporters could actually be practical."

"I never can keep all those scientists apart," shrugged Travis as he reached for the card. "You've got History."

Trip tapped his fingers against the edge of his bed. "Ancient history or recent history?"

"You don't get to know that before you pick the level."

He looked at his place on the board, behind Travis. "I'll take level two."

"The last pharaohs of Egypt were from what other ancient civilization?"

Scowling, Trip tried to rack his brain for the answer. "How come I'm not gettin' any science questions?"

"I'm fairly certain there was never an ancient civilization by that name," noted Malcolm with a smirk.

"Very funny, Mr. I-don't-know-who-Andre-Kaseau-is."

Travis tried to refocus his friends. "The last pharaohs of Egypt were from what other ancient civilization?"

"Maybe Rome?" guessed Trip. Travis shook his head.

"Greece," supplied Captain Archer, who had entered Sickbay unnoticed.

Travis turned around, surprised. "How did you know that?"

"My grandmother specialized in ancient history."

"Ever wonder if someday trivia games will ask about _Enterprise_?" asked Trip to nobody in particular.

Malcolm was the first to respond. "Actually, I hadn't. I wonder what kinds of questions they'd ask."

"What year we launched," suggested Travis.

Trip, of course, had to work in his beloved engines. "How fast the engines could go."

The captain looked at his bedridden officers. "Which member of the senior staff spent the most time in Sickbay."

This was one of those rare things that Trip and Malcolm agreed on. Archer decided that in the future, he should try to avoid getting the death glare from both men at the same time. It was really quite unnerving.

* * *

"Ss-ee ock liash Malcolm Reed Enterprise g Earth parfed veal." 

Trip tried to hide his laughter with a coughing fit. Hoshi made a face that looked like she was in physical pain. Malcolm could only hope that Phlox wasn't listening to his latest attempt at Andorian.

"Is this introducin' yourself or makin' a joke?" asked Trip, giving in to his laughter.

"Rome wasn't built in a day," chided Hoshi. Despite Malcolm's mangled attempts at Andorian, she was very proud of him.

"Right. I'll just be here, writin' about the Academy."

With a suspicious glance in Trip's direction, Malcolm asked, "Can we start with the first word?"

"It's two quick, sharp sounds. S'ee."

"S'ee," repeated Malcolm. "That's 'I'?"

"Yes. Now add the next word."

"S'ee ock."

"That's too sharp. It should rhyme with 'hawk,'" she clarified.

"It does. Ock."

"No, the bird hawk, not the piece of meat hock."

Malcolm gave her a look of utter confusion. "There's a difference?"

"Say 'hawk' slowly. The bird."

"Hhhaaawwwkkk."

"Okay, now use that to soften the word. Make the double-u sound"

"Awk?" tried Malcolm.

"That's the right word, but don't raise your voice like it's a question. That makes it threatening in Andorian."

"Awk. S'ee awk. Hoshi, I sound like a donkey!"

Trip snickered. "Maybe I should skip ta the present," he thought out loud, looking at his padd. "It might be more fun than the Academy."

"You write about this, and I'll have security drills in front of your quarters at 0200 hours for the next three months."

While not entirely sure that Malcolm wasn't bluffing, Trip didn't think he wanted to take that risk. "Exobiology was the hardest class that semester..."

Hoshi went back to business. "Your rank is liash, but you have to emphasize the second syllable or else you become the equivalent of a lieutenant junior grade."

"Liash," said Malcolm with the appropriate emphasis and a quick glance in Trip's direction. "S'ee awk liash. Good, now we're at the part I know. S'ee awk liash Malcolm Reed Enterprise…" he trailed off. "How does the last part go?"

Much to his relief, T'Pol entered Sickbay. It would be easier to learn 'I am Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of the Earth starship _Enterprise_' without Trip's snarky comments.

Trip was thrilled to see her. "Evenin' T'Pol!"

"Good evening, Trip. I trust that you have been recovering well?"

"I'm alright. How're things outside Sickbay?"

"Engineering has finished the repairs." She handed him a padd. "I thought that you might enjoy seeing the interior of the nebula. These were taken shortly before we were attacked."

"Thanks!" he exclaimed. "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen a nebula so orange."

"It is unfortunate that we could not complete our study."

"Yeah. Plus, that would've meant no attack, an' I'd be back in my quarters."

"Veeyawl." Malcolm made a particularly strangled sound. T'Pol looked concerned.

"I wouldn't say anythin' about Malcolm's Andorian if I were you," cautioned Trip. "He might threaten security drills in front of your quarters at all hours."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow but made no comment. "How is your autobiography progressing?"

The lovely thing about their bond, Trip thought, was that he could tell she wasn't just making small talk. "I just finished the time I almost failed an exobiology test."

T'Pol pulled him into the white space, apparently desiring privacy. _Is it not ironic that you struggled with exobiology? _she asked. _You are now personally acquainted with an intensely personal aspect of Vulcan biology. _

Trip put his newfound skill to use and changed the environment to a moonlit night with the stars above them. _Additionally, you are becoming quite adept at certain mental tasks,_ added T'Pol.

Not wanting to waste this experience of the personal aspect of Vulcan biology, he kissed her. _You're a much better teacher._

Malcolm, meanwhile, was on to another sentence. "Chaxi vla-odd teb dye-wah." Hoshi grimaced, but Trip was oddly quiet. He idly wondered how T'Pol managed that particular feat before attempting to improve his Andorian.

* * *

Malcolm woke up from his mandated afternoon nap when a small projectile bounced off his forehead. He was instantly awake and scanning Sickbay for possible assailants. 

"Relax," said Trip, who was apparently quite awake. "It was just a grape. We've got a snack," he explained, pointing to a cup of grapes next to Malcolm's bed.

The offending grape had rolled to a stop on the floor. "Do I want to know?"

Trip managed to look a bit embarrassed. "Grapes are hard to juggle," he admitted.

Malcolm sighed.

* * *

"Lieutenant," reproached Phlox, "I said that you could add weights to your physical therapy regimen. I did not say that you could use such heavy weights." He handed a much smaller weight to his reluctant patient. 

"This is only one kilo!" protested Malcolm.

Trip was no less impressed. "Can't we at least use two kilos?"

"May I replace the plasma injectors next time it's necessary?" A look of sheer horror appeared on the engineer's face. "Keeping our respective areas of expertise in mind, let's begin."

"I don't think we give him enough credit," whispered Malcolm as Dr. Phlox went to retrieve the other set of weights.

"For what?"

"Inducing terror. Next time we have to interrogate someone, perhaps Phlox would be willing to help."

The doctor returned, weights in hand. "Help with what?"

"Nothing," replied Malcolm and Trip at the exact same time.

"That's what my children used to say when they were conspiring," noted Phlox without any alarm. "However, I don't see anything broken, so let's begin."

* * *

Dr. Phlox, mainly for reasons of sanity (his own as well as his patients'), had agreed that they could have their lunch in the mess hall. While they were glad to escape Sickbay, even for a short time, neither Trip nor Malcolm liked their mode of transportation very well. 

Trip's eyes seemed to expand beyond natural limits. "Wheelchairs?"

"I'm not the one with a fractured hip," protested Malcolm.

"Thanks a lot!"

"Any time."

"Commander, Lieutenant, both of you received serious injuries that were only partially healed before your bodies suffered again when you were thrown to the floor. Despite physical therapy, neither of your bodies is up to the task of walking to the mess hall and back. Either you will go to the mess hall in wheelchairs, or you will eat lunch in Sickbay as usual."

Trip looked at the wheelchairs Phlox had produced. "Hey, Malcolm, I bet I can get to turbolift before you do!"

"Oh really?"

Phlox resolved to do further research on humans. He still failed to understand how being in Sickbay brought out some of the most juvenile tendencies in males.

"No cheatin' now. Wait till I'm settled in."

As this was likely to improve his patients' moods, Phlox decided to allow their race. The wheelchairs could not go especially fast, and both men's arms had recovered well.

"Three, two one...go!"

The human male proclivity to competition also bore further research.

* * *

"A tame sehlat is an amiable creature," explained T'Pol. She had been educating Trip on Vulcan culture, a discussion topic which had turned out of interest to Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato as well. 

Trip found that hard to believe. "Those are pets for _kids_?"

"They are quite useful in teaching children responsibility, and in fact sehlats are very loyal animals."

"They're actually kind of cute," volunteered Hoshi. "I saw a couple when I was on Vulcan."

Malcolm eyed the picture skeptically. "Nothing with teeth that long can possibly be considered 'cute.'"

"Just think, Malcolm," suggested Trip with a grin, "with the right trainin' I bet you'd have a really good guard sehlat!"

* * *

Dr. Phlox was a bit concerned about the state of his Sickbay and his patients. He'd hated to leave Crewman Rodriguez alone with them, but it was really a bad idea to put his bi-monthly nap off any longer. Besides, he was only gone two hours. 

Despite the pep talk he gave himself, Phlox was nervous as he walked into his domain. Much to his surprise, he found that both Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker were asleep. As they heartily protested his policy of an afternoon nap (something he'd thought better than to leave for Rodriguez to enforce), this was somewhat suspect.

"Good afternoon," said Rodriguez. "You were right, Doctor. The Lieutenant and Commander are really a handful."

"What happened?" inquired Phlox, although he had a feeling he might be better off not knowing.

"They had a staring contest," replied Rodriguez.

The doctor perked up a little. Whatever the circumstances, he was always ready to learn more about human culture. "I'm not familiar with this game."

"Two people stare at each other. Whoever looks away first loses."

Relieved that at least this sounded fairly innocuous, Phlox tried to understand the appeal. "How long does this last?"

Rodriguez shrugged. "Depends on who's playing. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed played for almost twenty-five minutes, which is a heck of a lot longer than I could ever do."

"They are both exceptionally strong-willed individuals."

"Well, the game started out alright, but soon they were trying to distract each other."

"That is allowed?"

"That's what makes it fun!"

"Oh. Please continue."

"Commander Tucker told some truly terrible jokes. Lieutenant Reed told some equally bad jokes. Neither of them looked away. Commander Tucker started making funny faces. Lieutenant Reed started singing."

"Singing?" repeated Phlox. This couldn't possibly end well.

"Yes."

"What kinds of songs?"

"Ummm," replied Rodriguez nervously, "not the kind I'd care to repeat. I think they're drinking songs."

"I see."

"So then Commander Tucker started singing different songs, and they were forgetting their lyrics or mixing them up. Neither of them are particularly talented singers."

"I'm aware."

That earned Phlox a sympathetic look. "Your bat was a little upset," he added.

"My bat is particularly sensitive to their musical endeavors."

"Lieutenant Reed started making up a song about Commander Tucker's experience with the Xyrillians, which was awkward to say the least."

"They did this while maintaining eye contact?"

"Yes. Not to be outdone, Commander Tucker promptly began a song called 'The Ballad of the Stiff-Necked Paranoid Armory Officer.'"

"You're certain that they weren't suffering from head injuries?"

"Just cabin fever, Doctor."

This seemed to Phlox an alarming development. "They have fevers?"

"No," corrected Rodriguez while trying to hide a smile. "Cabin fever just means that they're tired of being cooped up in Sickbay."

"Oh. What happened after 'The Ballad of the Stiff-Necked Paranoid Armory Officer?'"

"The game ended. Unfortunately, they started arguing over who looked away first."

"And then?" asked Phlox with a feeling of dread.

Rodriguez gave a small smile that was at once guilty and unrepentant. "I gave them each a mild sedative and things are going splendidly."

* * *

Epilogue to come. 


	5. Epilogue

Twenty-two years later…

Seventeen-year-old Amelia Reed swiped the sweat off her forehead and sighed. "Shoko? Are you up here again?" She didn't understand what her younger sister found so fascinating, spending all those hours up in the attic when she could be at the beach. It was summer vacation, after all! "Shoko?"

Shoko's hand waved from over the top of a storage container. "Mia! Come look at this!" When Mia didn't come over, she added, "I found Dad's autobiography!"

Curiosity piqued, Amelia threaded her way between the stacks of containers. Shoko was sitting cross-legged on the floor, an open container beside her marked _Enterprise_ in their mother's flowing handwriting. She'd positioned a small fan to point at her and appeared to have been there for quite some time. "Listen to this," she said eagerly. "Dad just graduated from Starfleet Academy and now he's on his first assignment. 'We were sent with Admiral Buchanan as his security guards while he was on Vulcan. Of course, nobody actually admitted that we were his bodyguards. Rather, we were his 'staff' or his 'retinue' in official documents. There was no question, however, as to our real purpose. Some difficulty arose when Buchanan was to make his speech before the High Command. It turned out that only ceremonial weapons were allowed in the High Command's central meeting place.'"

Amelia laughed. "I bet Dad didn't like that."

"It gets better. 'Lieutenant Oswald assigned each of us a different ceremonial weapon, attempting to find an ancient Vulcan weapon that would still be serviceable. Because of my interest in archery, I was assigned the _chal'kot_, a Vulcan longbow. At least the Vulcans had the courtesy not to comment that the shortest member of our team was given the tallest weapon. My teammates were not so kind.'" Shoko grinned. "Don't you wish we had a picture of Dad with a Vulcan longbow?"

"Absolutely!" Even though Amelia was two years older than Shoko, she sometimes felt younger because Shoko was so serious. It was nice to enjoy this find together. "I'm glad you made me listen to this. What happens next?"

"Let's see, Dad has a longbow. 'Fortunately we didn't need our weapons.'"

Another voice floated up the stairs. "Mom said that we'd better come down, because she's run out of kids to bring Shoko downstairs." Eventually Tim's face poked around the corner.

"Uncle Trip and Aunt T'Pol will be here any minute!" exclaimed Amelia, recalling the reason she was sent to fetch her sister.

Tim, at eleven the youngest of the Reed siblings, looked at his sisters curiously. "What were you girls doing up here, anyway?"

"Reading Dad's autobiography," supplied Shoko.

He shook his head. "Weird."

* * *

Once everyone had their food, Amelia had a great topic for conversation. "Guess what Shoko found today!" 

"What?" asked Hoshi.

Shoko looked triumphant. "Dad's autobiography!"

"I'd forgotten about those," grinned Trip. "I had ta write one too."

This sounded wonderful to Shoko. "Can we read yours?"

"I don't even know where it is."

T'Pol looked up from the task of cutting her eggplant parmesan. "It is probably in the basement in one of the containers marked _Trip's Enterprise Paraphernalia._" She turned to her honorary nieces and nephew. "Neither your father or Trip were particularly enthusiastic about writing their autobiographies when they started."

Despite himself, Tim was getting interested. "How'd you end up doing it, then?"

"It was during one of their longer stays in Sickbay," explained Hoshi. "Doctor Phlox made them do it so they wouldn't drive each other crazy."

"Which they proceeded to do anyway," added T'Pol.

Trip started chuckling to himself, earning questioning looks from the others. "I just remembered another interestin' thing from that stay in Sickbay."

"Dare I ask?" Malcolm had a strong feeling that this was going to be the kind of thing that his children would find entirely too amusing at his expense. It was one of the things he'd learned to live with out of paternal love, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it.

"Does 'The Ballad of the Stiff-Necked Paranoid Armory Officer' sound familiar?"

Malcolm found that all three of his children were giving him wide-eyed stares. "Can we hear the words?" asked Tim hopefully.

Hoshi and Trip burst out laughing, while T'Pol looked on with an amused expression. Malcolm scowled.

"There was somethin' about tryin' ta use too much power…" began Trip once he stopped laughing.

Malcolm gave him a threatening glare. "Oh no you don't. Not under my roof!"

Trip, who had written the masterpiece down and sung it several times since he came up with it, began to actually sing. "He wants ta arm us ta the teeth, but Cap'n Archer keeps him on a short leash."

Hoshi and T'Pol were giving each other looks of disbelief. Amelia, Shoko, and Tim were gleefully taking the scene in.

Malcolm went on the offensive. Looking at his children, he said carefully, "I should tell you about the time your uncle Trip was pregnant."

* * *

The End. 

_Thanks for all the kind reviews! _


End file.
